


Don't Add Water

by RavenpuffLove



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Bad Cooking, Burns, Healing, Yelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23253199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenpuffLove/pseuds/RavenpuffLove
Summary: Hermione can't cook, and sometimes she loses her head.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58
Collections: Once_upon_a_lifetime_TRS





	Don't Add Water

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Once_upon_a_lifetime_TRS](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Once_upon_a_lifetime_TRS) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Cooking a special dinner
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this quick little look into a golden triad's daily life! 
> 
> Thank you to Charlie9646 for betaing :)

When you notice a medium sized fire in the center of your kitchen it's rather hard to do anything other than scream, so that's exactly what I did.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

At some point during the few minutes I had spent cutting up chunks of potatoes and taking a masher to them, the perfect, thin pork cutlets I'd breaded and set into shimmering oil had burst into flames. The fire rose up out of the pan half a foot into the air, heating the area around it so that when I ran over to try and fix it I felt like I was in the fire itself, my brain flashing suddenly back to the Room of Requirement and the hellish, oppressive inferno of the Fiendfyre.

_ No.  _ I thought, shaking my head and pushing closer to the stove.  _ This isn't the war. Just a kitchen fire. _

Wand outstretched, I got just close enough to direct a stream of water from my wand tip into the flames and my destroyed attempt at a celebratory dinner. It was clearly the wrong thing to do because hot oil from the pan was suddenly everywhere, a fiery mist of it engulfing my hand for a half a second before my brain kicked in and told me to get away from the explosive reaction, back pressed against the bar opposite the stove.

The pain from my burns sat in quickly, the searing sensation in my fingertips causing me to drop my wand to the floor and stealing my ability to reason through the problem, or even pinpoint what had gone wrong.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid,  _ was all that would come to my brain as I cradled my arm and watched the flames climbing higher, only prevented from setting the upper cabinet on fire by the vent.

“Hermione!” I heard over the crackling sound of the flames, coming from somewhere behind me, a chorus of my two favourite voices in the world and the thuds of Ron's heavy footsteps across the wood floor.

“Bloody Hell!” Ron screamed as he rushed around the bar to examine the situation, his hair blazingly bright as it reflected the flames. “It's a grease fire, why the fuck would you put water on it Mione! Harry get her out of here!”

_ You never put water on a grease fire.  _ A vague memory of my mother's voice lectured.  _ Oil and water don't mix, the water will sink to the bottom quickly and evaporate, causing an explosion. _

The next thing I knew a familiar pair of wiry arms had wrapped around me, carefully releasing my wrist as I hissed and steering me around the bar to the soft sofa in the living room.

“Hermione, you've got a pretty bad burn,” Harry whispered, summoning a pale green jar from the medicine cabinet and flicking his wand over it before grasping my elbow just above the injury and stretching it out. “I need to get some burn paste on it. I used your trick to charm it cold.”

I focused my attention on the kitchen, watching as Ron levitated a large platter over the fire to smother it, trying not to feel the shock of pain as the cold paste hit the injury and waiting for the pain to abate and give me space to think.

“What happened, Love,” Harry asked once the paste had been sitting for a moment, the angry red of the burn dissipating quickly. “You don't usually cook.”

“I wanted to cook you two a dinner to celebrate your last day as Junior Aurors.” I whispered, not quite able to meet his eyes. “You never get to come home to a home cooked meal. I thought it would be nice if it happened at least once before you were Senior Aurors and I moved up to Department Head. I figured I wouldn't ever have a chance once I--”

“Mione, you have got to learn to keep your head. What would have happened if we hadn't made it home!” Ron interrupted, having rid the kitchen of danger and vanished the mess. He seemed to feel fully justified in tearing me a new one as he leaned against the bar, breathing heavily.

“I-I'm S-s-sorry.” I replied, hating the wobbly feel of my jaw as I fought back tears.

Harry stood suddenly, leaving me alone on the couch to move to the kitchen where a few waves of his wand had the start of a new dinner going in seconds. He stopped along the way to lean into Ron and whisper something in his ear, one hand gripping the other man's shoulder as he spoke, thumb rubbing calming circles over his collarbone. Ron's face softened as he made his way to the sofa. He gathered me into his arms and onto his lap, the burn past covered arm between us smearing across his button down.

“None of us can be good at everything, Mione.” Ron said quietly as he settled me in his lap, arms holding me close against his chest so that I could rest my chin on his shoulder. “You aren't responsible for feeding us just because you're a girl, even though you like to hover like a little mum. Next time just remember, we like carry-out fine.”

“I just wanted it to be special.” I replied, trying to wipe at the tears streaking my face before it could dribble into his shirt collar.

He hugged me tighter, face nuzzling into the frizzy curls that had come loose from my bun and been tucked haphazardly behind my ear before the disaster in the kitchen.

“Every night we get to come home to you is special.” He whispered, soft lips grazing my neck on the sensitive spot behind my ear, intimate and comforting. “Besides, Harry loves cooking. Don't deprive him, then we all suffer when he decides there's not enough salt.”

“I heard that.” Harry called from the kitchen where I could see him chuckling as he stirred scrambled eggs with one hand and dropped a slice of bread in the toaster at the same time. “It's not my fault that you two don't seem to understand that seasoning is what makes food taste good. I put up with the lack of spices but I draw the line at salt.”


End file.
